I was hard as a rock.
'Talking of magical properties, so Boner is a juju man, is he?
'What are you on about? Oh, I see – the belt.'
Jay shivered as a draft of early evening air came through the cabin porthole.
'Tell me how you got out of Parrot's clutches first. And bend over.'
'I suppose bird claws do clutch. Like eggs.'
'Stop talking nonsense. Bend over.'
Jay closed her eyes and bent, her hands on the sofa. I lifted the remains of her dress over her hips and quietly unbuckled my belt again. I unzipped and poised at Jay's moist entrance.
Simultaneously I looped the belt around her neck, held her firmly by her hair, and slowly entered her. The belt tightened around her throat for long moments. I held my own breath then let her breathe again. I was still and waiting inside her.
'Parrot. Tell me.'
There was a catch in Jay's voice.
'He told me off for going AWOL. And the Captain told me off for going AWOL. He wagged his finger at me.'
A little convulsion went through Jay's body.
'Parrot wanted to know where I had hidden the gun. I said, what gun? He said, the gun you shot Raoul with.'
I tightened the belt and thrust slowly in and out for thirty heartbeats.
Jay gasped as I released the pressure. Her voice was low.
'I said I didn't have a gun and had never even held one. And I had nowhere to hide one last night. I didn't have any secrets. The Captain said, yes, that's true, there was no hiding place in your state of dishabille.'
Squeeze again, holding her head steady by the hair. I hardly moved.
Another gasp, followed by fast breathing. I knew Jay's eyes were tight closed.
'Parrot said, we know it wasn't you anyway. No powder burns on Raoul's clothes or skin. The bullet was fired from at least ten feet away.'
I thrust further into my wife than I had ever done before. The cabin was very quiet. There seemed to be a source of the quiet somewhere in the room.
I sensed a presence nearby. It was in my wife's shopping basket, sitting beside her spread hands on the sofa. I twisted the belt behind her neck and freed her hair to reach into the basket.
The two fetishes were waiting for me. I put the black female part on the sofa and forced Jay's lips to it. She moaned and tried to twist out of the belt's embrace. I took the male part in my hand. The cabin faded away…
'Hell fire, Jaybird, that was a close one!'
'You're not kidding! I thought I was a goner. Good job you kept at least a bit of control.'
We lay back on the sofa, Jay pale in my arms.
'I only just managed to let go of the belt before the lights went out. Do you remember anything after that?'
'I remember kissing a warm wet pulsing pussy. And I remember you hosing my cervix like a water main had been turned on. What the hell happened?'
'The Black Widow's fetishes, that's what happened. The damn things are possessed. They want blood – I could feel their fury when I flung the belt through the porthole.'
I shuddered. When I woke, still impaled in Miss Lawrence, I had flung the fetishes after the belt. They landed on the deck outside with a crash and must then have rolled over the side into the clear water. Let the fishes have some fun – or otherwise.
'It seems to be black magic day. First wax images now this. I laughed at the wax stuff, but now…'
Jay snuggled tighter and I held her close. We could both do with a bit of TLC right then.
'Don't knock it, my dear. Voodoo, juju, black magic, obeah, whatever you call it. It's powerful stuff. There were a couple of reported cases of obeah in Antigua a year or so ago. One of them scared some poor policemen shitless. And Haiti of course – they put an act on for the tourists, but up in the hills some mighty strange things go on.'
Jay shivered again.
'Did Boner really believe he could kill Raoul that way? And why, for crying out loud? I can understand Boner using some sneaky underhand method instead of frontal assault. Dueling isn't his style. But why should he want to do in a Dago singer?'
'I might have said on principle, but I suspect Boner doesn't have any. He had to have a motive somewhere.'
'Yes, and a diamond toothpick to a pinch of sand money is involved somewhere. His meanness is legendary from Boise to Cripple Creek.'
I looked at my watch. The short tropical twilight was nearly over.
'Time to dress for the party. Whatever Boner's motive, the means didn't get off the ground. Raoul died of acute lead poisoning before the pins did for him. They do tend to be a slightly longer term measure – promote fatal bowel constrictions and that kind of thing.'
'I bet he's disappointed. And you watch your back, Harry Neptune. If you keep needling him he might needle you!'
'At the first twinge I'll chuck him overboard. Come to think of it, I might make an effigy myself. Handy thing to have around.'
A little insurance never hurt.
'Come on, Lawrence. It's an old colonial theme tonight. Cross-dressing. Where's my girdle?'
CHAPTER TEN: A BIT OF A DRAG
'Good heavens! It's just like Fagzindragz on a Saturday night.'
I stifled a giggle. I hadn't seen so many middle-aged men in glittery frocks since I worked as a hat check girl in a San Francisco drag club. Harry looked blase.
'An old Caribbean custom, my dear. For the white settlers, that is, not the natives. The steamy heat of the tropics does funny things to your head. I say – just look at Swat and Dunnett!'
I followed my husband's amused gaze. That time, my laughter could not be contained. As mentioned, the theme for the evening was cross-dressing, and the vast room was filled to bursting point in more ways than one, the ladies Chaplin-esque in outsized dinner jackets, their male partners painfully squeezed into miniscule cocktail dresses. Apparently, the good doctor had eschewed a chance to get into the Lush's skimpy apparel and had opted for a full-length lady's evening kilt and a silk blouse with a prim high neck and frilly jabot bodice. Someone had curled and lacquered his lank red locks into a bouffant do, and he carried a matching tartan drawstring bag, which no doubt concealed his medicinal Glen Tipplet. Miss Swat appeared to be wearing a straitjacket. Helpless, I clutched at Harry's skirt and gasped:
'Dunnett looks just like Moira Anderson!'
(Cultural note: Miss Anderson was a popular Scottish singer during my impoverished 1970s Old Country childhood.)
Harry snorted.
'What's with the Lush in full bondage gear? It's supposed to be an evening of cross-dressing, not Halloween. That's a real straitjacket she's wound into, by the way. Curious.'
I decided not to ask my nearest and dearest how he could determine a real loony restraint from a phony one. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. Miss Swat resembled an Egyptian mummy, her arms tightly folded across her chest. When she moved, she had to take tiny little bird steps like Morticia Addams, as the strange white garment bound
